traditions and customs
by question the corpus
Summary: Being punished with Christmas decorations isn't really a punishment. [CroMa, male-pronoun!Crona. Fluffy ficlet.]


**AN: **Ahh this ship is growing on me more and more. Have some wonderfully clichéd Christmas fic: gettin' them in early!

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><p><strong>traditions and customs<strong>

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><p>"This is <em>ridiculous<em>," seethes Maka – and though Crona would never call a teacher's method of punishment ridiculous out loud, he's silently inclined to agree.

Maka's arms are cradling a box, but it's not just any box: it's a _jingly_ box, filled almost to the brim with baubles and tinsel and who knows what else. The items inside it are supposed to bring people festive cheer, but that's apparently not an assertion Maka agrees with.

"I'm training to be a meister," Maka goes on, as she sets the box down atop the teacher's desk. It's Stein's classroom, empty for lunch, and she folds her arms across her chest while she turns to examine it. "Not an _interior decorator_. What kind of penalty is _this_?"

Crona thinks, on the whole, being told to decorate the classroom for Christmas is a lenient sanction by the Professor's standards. He scuttles over to join Maka by the desk, peering curiously at the noisy box before nervously biting his lip.

"W-Well, he wouldn't _have_ to punish us if we hadn't been late because we were too busy—"

"_Yeah, yeah_," Maka is quick to interject.

She swiftly raises a hand to cut Crona off, and he instinctively glances at Maka's cheeks: they're appropriately pink, the slightest hint of an embarrassed flush. As far as she's concerned, those matters should stay in the bedroom.

Maka turns again, pulling the box's flaps apart. The barrage of colour inside it seems to offend her senses, her nose crinkling while she tugs out a length of tinted Christmas lights.

"He's never cared about us being late _before_. I bet he was told to decorate this place by Lord Death – and when he decided he couldn't be bothered he pawned it off on _us_ so he could go waste his time doing..." Maka pauses, searching for a conclusion. "...science."

Crona smiles a weak smile. He knows better than to play devil's advocate to Maka's ranting by now, so he gently places his hands on her shoulders, stooping to apply the _slightest_ nuzzle to the back of her head.

It seems to calm her down, or at least, it produces a smile. She glances back over her shoulder, playfully swatting him away, before depositing the thread of lights into his unsuspecting grasp.

"Put those up over the blackboard," she says, "and I'll do something about this tinsel. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can leave."

"Sounds good."

Crona obediently gravitates towards the board, standing on tiptoes to reach the top of it. There are little hooks protruding from the wall either side, presumably for the purposes of hanging a flag, but they make convenient little holders for the lights to go through.

After internally deciding not to ask Ragnarok for help, he's just about to begin his endeavour when Maka's voice tears him away.

"Oh, hey, neat!"

Well. It's not the most sophisticated distraction, but anything to facilitate procrastination will do.

Curious, Crona looks back to where Maka is working her way through the box, only to find that whatever's caught her attention is really quite small. She's cupping it in her hands, eyeing it with a mischievous grin – and Crona thinks, _oh no_, because it's never good when Maka gets one of those.

"Look!" she says, glancing up like she felt Crona's gaze on her.

She plucks the item from her palm between thumb and forefinger, waving it around like it's some sort of prize. It's plastic, and slightly gaudy, but it's a passable imitation of what it's supposed to be. Red berries, green leaves with pointy edges; it's an ornament clearly modelled after...

"Mistletoe!"

Maka sounds pleased with herself, grin only expanding as she stops waving the thing about to examine it. Crona frowns, because that isn't what he was thinking at all.

"I-I think it's holly."

Maka falters. "Huh?"

"Holly. Mistletoe has white berries."

"Oh." Maka pouts for a moment, before deciding her find is no longer worth her attention. She drops it back into the box, and continues pawing out the rest of its flashy contents.

Perhaps the only positive thing life with Medusa gave him was a working knowledge of plants. Witches walk hand in hand with herbal remedies... though Crona can't think why mistletoe, of all things, would excite Maka so much.

"What's wrong?"

Maka smiles, humourlessly. "No kisses, that's all."

Crona is rendered only all the more confused.

"You," he says, then rubs the back of his head. He should really be able to broach the issue with Maka by now, but he still feels so _shy_ around her. "You want a kiss?"

"Mm?" Maka says, staring blankly for a moment – then something seems to strike her. "Oh! You don't know? It's tradition." She points to the ceiling, then goes on, "People hang mistletoe up at Christmas and if two people stand under it, they have to kiss. But I guess I've never seen real mistletoe before."

"I-I see."

Though Maka goes back to her work, Crona can't make himself. He watches her, head slowly angling this way and that, while he tries to summon the courage to execute the idea forming in his mind.

More time than _necessary_ passes before he's finally mentally prepared, stepping back towards the desk while reaching out as he goes. His fingers gently take her collar, to seize her attention more than anything else, and he leans in to kiss her when she finally looks up at him, her expression fixed in soft surprise.

He can only ever kiss her softly, an eternal apology for all the times he hurt her before – but she pushes back soon enough, kissing him with such ease that he marvels at the process. Only recently was he convinced that she'd never allow him to kiss her, let alone respond, her hands lifting to press flat against his chest.

For a brief little burst, they kiss open-mouthed but _chastely_, lips warm and soft and welcoming. When Crona pulls away, he finds Maka smiling, a hand of hers instead moving to rest upon his cheek.

"What's that for?"

Crona _swallows_. "We – we could make our own tradition."

"Oh?" Maka says, and laughs. "Kissing every time we're near fake plastic holly that probably cost less than a dollar?"

"No," Crona replies, because that _doesn't_ sound appealing. He thinks for a moment, brow furrowed with concentration, only meeting her gaze again once he's made his decision. "Every time we get in trouble with the teachers."

Maka smiles. It's a soft, warm thing, and her lips part only to murmur, "That'll just make me want to get in trouble _more_."

Crona opens his mouth, intending to respond, but he's silenced by Maka kissing him again.

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><p><strong>-x-<strong>


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